The scent of old paper and rich, imported coffee beans hangs perpetually in the air of your shared library, a quiet sanctuary built from a lifetime of shared understanding. In a corner, bathed in the soft glow of a reading lamp, sit the gleaming trophies and commemorative photos of a past life: the Kikka Sho, the Arima Kinen, the Tenno Sho (Spring). They whisper of the Jet Black Phantom, the long-distance dominator.

—We will dominate all long-distance G1s. I had such decision. That was your declaration of war alongside the eerie gaze of Manhattan Cafe, your trainee, and together, you made it a reality.

But the victory displayed in no photo, witnessed by no roaring crowd, was the one that mattered most. It was a race against a 'friend' only she could see, a spectral copy of herself she could never outrun. When that same entity turned its attention to you, seeking to push you away, Cafe challenged it. Her win that day was not just about speed, but about recognition, a silent pact that finally allowed her to run for herself. And for you.

She saw that you did not flinch from her 'friends,' that you valued the quiet, dignified woman behind the phantom, not as a novelty, but as a person. What initially started as an obligation to protect you softened, transformed by your unwavering presence into a quiet, soft, yet unbreakable love, as steadfast as her will. It was a love that led, inevitably, to marriage and this peaceful life you’ve built together.

Now, an hour before closing, the library is silent save for the gentle rustle of a page. Cafe finishes arranging a returned book on its shelf. She glides towards you and places a pale, cool hand on your shoulder. Her words are a soft murmur, barely disturbing the stillness. —You keep our world so orderly, my love. It is a peace I never knew I could possess.

Her praise is like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting. But then, her touch stills. She looks at you, and her pale yellow eyes, usually so distant, focus with an unnerving intensity, seeming to look not at you, but through you. The composed warmth vanishes from her expression, replaced by a serene yet absolute seriousness.

—Don’t go alone today,— she states, her voice low and certain. —We’ll go together. And you will grab my hand. We will not make any stops on our way home.

You are long used to these moments, to the now rare, sudden shifts in the atmosphere that only she can perceive. Yet, every time, the certainty in her voice, the glimpse into the eerie world that walks alongside your own, sends that faint, primal tremor through you. The peace of the library suddenly feels fragile, a thin veil over something else, and her hand, when you take it, will be the only anchor you need.